


Irondad Week 2019

by Emily_F6



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Irondad, Irondad Week 2019, Irondad week day 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-18 05:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: Follows the prompts for Irondad Week. Day 1: Peter is surprised when Tony shows up at his school to whisk him away for...well, he doesn't actually know.





	1. Chapter 1

Irondad Week Day 1: Vacation

“Uh…dude?” Peter smothered a yawn, glancing over at Ned as they made their way down the stairs in front of the school. His suit was in his backpack, and he knew he needed to go patrolling, but it was the official start of spring break so he’d decided to take a nap first. Maybe…or maybe he’d get started on his packet of homework. It really wasn’t fair that his chemistry teacher had assigned them homework for spring break, but he already knew all the stuff. He’d just have to sit down for a couple of hours and actually do it. Then he could go back out on patrols.

“Hm?” Peter asked, frowning when he realized that his friend was standing still, staring at something in the road. He followed Ned’s gaze, only to be distracted by a shoulder bumping into his. 

“Move it, Penis!” Flash snapped, and Peter rolled his eyes, muffling another yawn. 

“Pete!” Ned tried again. “Is that Tony Stark?”

“What?” Peter asked, turning away from Flash to look at Ned. He’d gotten roughly ten hours of sleep all week, only two of which had been the night before. And he doubted he’d be getting any that night. He couldn’t sleep anyway, so he’d been going on out patrols all night, slipping back in through his bedroom window only a few hours before he had to get up for school. He knew that May knew. But she hadn’t confronted him about it yet.

It had been a rough couple of months, starting in December when the nightmares had started. He wasn’t sure why they’d waited until December…why he’d been fine right after the incident with the Vulture. It didn’t make any sense. He’d been okay and then, one night…he’d been stuck under rubble, unable to breathe. He’d woken May up with his screaming. Thankfully, after that, he’d managed not to scream as much…but he’d still woken her up a few times. Not to mention the fact that he’d been losing his appetite randomly during the day. On patrols, sometimes he’d enter a building feel like it was about to collapse. Heck, he couldn’t stand dark rooms anymore. 

What kind of superhero couldn’t handle dark rooms? 

“Peter! Is that Tony Stark!” Ned hissed, obviously incredulous, and Peter followed his gaze, ready to assure his friend that of course, Mr. Stark wasn’t outside of their high school.

And then he saw him.

Parked in front of their school was a fancy back car…a very familiar black car. And leaning against the hood was a very familiar man. “Uh…yeah.” He muttered. “It is.”

Other students had stopped to stare, but Mr. Stark hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “Dude…” Ned whispered. “Why is Tony Stark here?”

“I…I have no idea,” Peter admitted. And he didn’t. He hadn’t exactly spoken to the man since turning down his offer to be an Avenger. And Mr. Stark hadn’t seemed angry or anything…just…they hadn’t spoken. He’d been afraid to try and reach out to the man, and he hadn’t heard from him since…Christmas? The man had sent a card from him and Pepper, which had been really nice, and a flash drive full of updates for his suit. That had been pretty cool. Peter still left the occasional message for Happy…everything was fine. 

But now it was the first week of April and Tony Stark was leaning on his fancy black car in a pair of slacks and a blue t-shirt with a suit jacket, along with a surprisingly bold pair of green shoes, tapping away at his phone, not seeming to notice the teenagers staring at him. “Dude…are you going to introduce me?” Ned practically squeaked, and Peter frowned. 

“What? I…I don’t know if he’s even here for me!” He hissed. Honestly, he had no idea what to do. Risk embarrassing himself and saying hi even if Mr. Stark wasn’t here for him? Maybe he had picked another high schooler to be his actual intern.

Not that Peter was bitter. The billionaire certainly didn’t owe him anything. He’d gone above and beyond for Peter. And Mr. Stark was busy. Peter knew that. So why did his chest hurt a little when he looked at the man? Just as he was about to try and explain all of that to Ned, the man in question glanced up, eyebrows lifting as he met Peter’s gaze, then gestured for him to come closer. 

Peter had to fight the urge to point a finger at himself and ask ‘who, me?’ Instead, he approached the man dumbly, far too aware of the fact that everyone, including Flash, was staring. Once he’d reached the superhero, Ned just a bouncy step behind, the man looked him up and down, nodding just a little to himself. “Hey there, Pete.” He greeted, as casual as ever.

“Um…hi. Hi, Mr. Stark.” He stammered a little. Then he felt the presence of his friend and tried to remember his manners. “This, uh…this is my friend, Ned.” He told him, stepping aside just a bit, and Mr. Stark stood upright, holding out a hand clasping Ned’s in his own. 

“Good to meet you, Ned.” 

“You…you too…Mr. Stark, sir…” The man nodded.

“Alright, Pete. Hop in.” 

“I…uh…”

“See you, Peter.” Ned waved, suddenly disappearing, and Peter wondered if maybe he was so sleep deprived that he was hallucinating. 

“Yeah…”. He waved back, then turned to find Mr. Stark already climbing into the driver’s seat. Blinking a few more times, he pulled his backpack off, dropping in on the floor and sitting in the passenger seat. Putting his seatbelt on, he fought to keep his eyes open as Mr. Stark pulled out onto the road. 

“How’s the suit? Updates working okay?”

“Oh…yeah…”. Peter nodded, wondering why he was so surprised every time the man spoke. “They’re great, Mr. Stark. Um…thank you. And for the Christmas card. That was really nice. You guys didn’t have to…”.

He’d sent Happy a text asking him to thank Mr. Stark for him, but had never heard back. Mr. Stark just waved him off.

“Sure thing, kid. Do you have the suit on you?” Peter nodded, then realized what this must be about. “Oh…should I…should I put it on? Is there a…”. He gestured in the vague way that he hoped implied the word ‘mission.’ The man beside him smiled a little at the road, eyes softening a little.

“No, you won’t need your suit for this.” 

“Oh…okay.”

Before long, they were pulling up in front of his apartment building, but as soon as he was parked, he began speaking. “I need your help for a couple of days if you don’t mind. I cleared it with Aunt Hottie already, so pack a bag, Spiderling.” Peter blinked, wondering if this was just a dream. Like…the weirdest dream ever, but still. “Pete?” Mr. Stark asked, eyes narrowing a little in concern, and Peter realized that it had been a little while since he’d responded.

“Uh. Yeah. Okay.” He muttered, nodded and wiping a hand over his face. Mr. Stark nodded slowly, waiting, and then Peter realized he was waiting for him. “Right. Sorry. Um…do you want to come up. We have soda and stuff…if you want something to drink.” He offered, manners thankfully kicking in. The man’s lips twitched a little…was Peter just too tired to focus or did Mr. Stark look sad all of a sudden.

“Sure, Pete.” 

Which was how Peter found himself in a crappy elevator with Mr. Stark, leaning against the wall as they ascended to the seventh floor. It made a groaning noise at it reached their floor, and Peter would have been embarrassed had he not been so tired. Instead, he just led the man to their apartment, the same one he’d visited months ago…almost a year now. Sticking the key in the lock, he jiggled it a little and got it to unstick, then pushed it open. 

He was glad it was relatively clean as he headed to his room, pausing by the kitchen. “You want anything to drink, Mr. Stark? We’ve got water, coke…”. He opened the refrigerator and Mr. Stark gave him another strange look before answering. 

“Water’s fine. Thanks, kid.” He took the bottle of water from Peter, taking a long drink, and Peter resumed his walk to his room which was, like the rest of the apartment, mostly clean. He wasn’t sure how long this trip was going to last so he dumped his stuff out of his backpack and onto his bed, then dug out some clothes from his closet. Grabbing his phone charger and making sure to replace his homework packet in the backpack, he headed to the bathroom to grab toiletries, then paused as he was zipping the bag. 

“Um…Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?” Peter glanced up and found the man leaning in the doorway…his senses must have been off. Usually, he would have heard him.

“Oh…uh…my suit…I need it, right?” Mr. Stark took another drink of water. 

“Sure. You got everything?” Peter nodded, throwing the backpack over his shoulder, then followed Mr. Stark back out to the car where he climbed into the passenger seat, doing his best not to close his eyes. Every blink had his eyes feeling heavier and heavier…but he couldn’t fall asleep. Not now.

The sun was warm on his face as he stared out the window, and beside him, Mr. Stark was silent. The man didn’t seem bothered by the quiet. Instead, he turned the radio on low and stayed silent until they reached…a plane? Peter blinked, rubbing his eyes, but Mr. Stark was climbing out of the car, throwing his keys to someone, and Peter followed, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, looking around in confusion. It was the same place that Happy had taken him when they’d gone to Germany. Was there another mission? Last time, Mr. Stark hadn’t ridden with him in the plane, but the man was climbing the stairs and Peter was following and…it was a huge private plane, same as last time. 

“Um…Mr. Stark?” He felt like he maybe shouldn’t be asking, but he was so confused. And so tired. The man glanced back at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “I have a lab in Malibu. Top secret stuff. I’ll show you when we get there.” 

“Malibu…” Peter repeated. 

“Ever been to California?”

“No.” He shook his head and Mr. Stark smiled a little.

“You’ll love it.” Mr. Stark gestured for Peter to take a seat as he paused to speak to the pilot, and Peter picked a spot in the middle, dropping into the huge, comfortable reclining seat. The urge to close his eyes was almost too strong and he felt the sun, still so warm on his face. 

The next thing he knew, a blanket was being settled over him and he jumped a little but didn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t make himself open them. “Just me, Spider-kid.” Mr. Stark told him softly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Sorry.” He muttered, knowing that he shouldn’t be sleeping…there was a reason, right? A reason he hadn’t been sleeping. But he couldn’t remember. 

He was in a building. A wingsuit flew through the air. And he knew what was going to happen…he knew that he was going to be crushed, so he turned and ran, but he was too late. The building was on top of him and he was gasping for air, chest tight as he fought to escape the rubble. 

“Pete?” Someone asked. But he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see or escape…he gasped for air, heart racing in his ears until a hand landed on his arm. “Peter!”

His eyes snapped open then, and he sat up so quickly that he nearly headbutted Mr. Stark in the chin. Thankfully the man had pulled back in time, hands up. “Peter? You alright, kid?”

“Yeah…yeah.” He whispered, gasping for air. “Sorry.” Mr. Stark shook his eyes.

“You’re fine, kid.” Then he went back to his Stark pad, and Peter realized that the man was sitting right beside him. In a huge private plane full of chairs, Tony Stark was sitting right beside him. “We’ve got another five hours before we land if you want to go back to sleep.”

“Oh…uh…no, I’ve got homework.” He told the man, reaching down to his backpack and pulling out the folder with the homework packet inside. Before he could put it on the tray, however, it was snatched out of his hand, and Peter watched with wide, stunned eyes as the man tossed the folder into the seat across the aisle.

“Nope.”

“I…Mr. Stark…what?” He asked, torn between his hero worship of the man and the fact that he really needed to get that done. 

“No homework.”

“I…I really have to get that done.”

Still, the man didn’t look up from his Stark Pad. “Don’t worry about it.” Peter blinked at him, but couldn’t muster the courage to get up and grab it…or move seats. “Here.” The man flipped his tablet to landscape mode and propped it up on Peter’s TV tray. The screen showed a movie and TV database that rivaled Netflix and Hulu combined. 

“…what?”

“Pick something to watch.” He urged. It took Peter a long minute to realize that Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, was going to watch TV with him. In a private jet. 

After a lot of hesitating, Peter decided on Brooklyn Nine-Nine, something he’d watched a thousand times but still loved. “Is this…is it okay? I mean, I have headphones if you don’t…” He trailed off when Mr. Stark waved a hand. 

“This is fine, Pete.” The man assured him. 

Peter managed to stay awake through the first two episodes, but then he was dozing again, head resting on something hard until something was slipped underneath him, and he snuggled into it, too exhausted to do more than listen to the actors on Mr. Stark’s tablet, the familiar dialogue playing in his dreams as he dozed. “Shit.” Came a different voice, one he sort of knew. Happy? But he hadn’t thought that Happy was on the plane. He hadn’t seen him…although it was possible that there was another part of the plane that he’d missed. “Is he sick or something?” 

“He’s fine.” Came Mr. Stark’s sharp reply.

“Are you sure? Because he…”

“He’s fine. Happy.” Apparently, that was the end of it, because he didn’t hear anything else, only the soft sounds from the tablet and a TV show that he’d basically memorized. Occasionally he’d hear Mr. Stark snort softly, or give a quiet chuckle, and he wondered, as he dozed, seemingly floating in his own mind, if Mr. Stark had ever seen the show…or if he even liked TV. 

“Tony…”

“He’ll be fine. Just…is everything ready?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“Good.”

And then a hand was on his shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. “Kid? Wake up, Pete. We’re here.” 

He blinked a few times, groaning as he shifted his head off of the pillow that was bunched up against the window. “Mr. Stark?” He asked, rubbing his eyes with a fist.

“Yeah, kiddo. You ready?” He nodded, pulling himself to his feet, then following the man out of the plane where they found Happy in a car, waiting. Mr. Stark opened one of the back doors, and Peter climbed in, fighting once more to keep his eyes open. “We’re about fifteen minutes away.” Mr. Stark told him, and Peter nodded, feeling his head swim. Resting his head on the window, he watched the unfamiliar landscape pass by. According to his phone, it was nearly 8pm here in California, and honestly, he felt like he should be more excited to be in California for the first time but everything was strange and far away. “Peter?” He jumped a little, turning to look at Mr. Stark who was looking at him with that strange look on his face again. Worried, Peter realized. The man looked worried. 

“Sorry…” Peter wiped a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t…uh…what did you say?” He caught Happy giving him a strange look in the rearview mirror and tried to ignore it. 

“We’re stopping for dinner. Any preferences?” 

“Oh…uh…no. No, that’s okay. Anything’s fine.” Mr. Stark nodded, lips pressed tightly together, but he didn’t say anything more to Peter, just directed Happy to stop at the next fast food place they saw, and Peter would later have vague memories of eating a cheeseburger with extra pickles and a seemingly endless amount of fries from a bag covered in grease that sat on the seat between him and Mr. Stark. But the rest of the night was a blur of being pulled out of a car and half-dragged into an impressive, unreal looking house, through a long hallway, and then being pushed into a bed.

“Mr. Stark…you said…lab…”

“Sleep, kid.” He heard the man say, and then, to his surprise, a hand was gently resting on his head, pushing some of his curls back. “We’ll get some work done in the morning.” 

Peter was under the building. Stuck. And no one was coming to save him. He couldn’t get out…couldn’t breathe. “Help…” He whispered, then spoke a little louder, gasping for air, fighting to move…to get out from under the rubble. No one knew where he was. No one knew that he was going to die under this building and before he’d been able to get out but now he couldn’t. “Please…please I’m stuck, please!” He was paralyzed…air dragged through his lungs in a wheeze. “Please, I can’t…please, help!” He screamed the word. 

“Peter? Kid, breathe. You’ve got to…shit.” A hand touched his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Come on, Pete. Wake up. You’re okay, kid. You’re fine. Just…” He released a painful, gasping whine, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Please! Please…I can’t…”

“You can breathe, kid. It’s a dream. Come on…” Another hand touched his arm, clutching his shoulders. “Come on, Peter.” Someone touched his head, fingers raking through his curls. “It’s alright, kid. Wake up.” 

Wake up? Peter frowned at the rubble, looking around the dust, then blinked…only to find himself in a dark room, Mr. Stark sitting on his bed, that same look on his face. “Mr. Stark…what…” He asked, blinking with eyes that felt like concrete, gasping for air that was suddenly readily available. Flinching, he pressed a hand to his chest. “What happened?” 

“You had a nightmare, kid. You okay?” He felt his face flush, eyes lowering as he tried to sit up.

“Yeah…I’m fine, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t. You’ve only been asleep for two hours…it’s just after 10.”

“Oh…okay. I, I mean…thank you for waking me up. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Peter squinted at him, his brain finally having gotten enough sleep to put some puzzle pieces together. 

“You don’t need my help in the lab.” He told the man, sitting up against the headboard and catching the man’s small, rueful smile in the dark. 

“No. I mean, I’m happy to have your help in the lab. But it isn’t why I brought you out here.”

“Then…why? I mean…I don’t get it.” He admitted, rubbing a hand over heavy eyes. 

“Your aunt was worried.” Peter felt his eyes go wide.

“Did she call you?” He asked, horrified.

“To be fair, I called her first. Saw you on the news.” Peter groaned, knowing exactly what the man was referring to. He’d…slipped. A web had been misplaced and…he may have ended up in a dumpster. “She said you hadn’t been sleeping…for about two months.” Peter shook his head.

“Wasn’t that long.”

‘The bags under your eyes are telling me a different story, Pete.” The man told him, not unkindly. It was strange…it had been so long since he’d seen the man. And now…he was worried about him.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. You didn’t have to bring me out here. I know you’re busy…”. The man stared down at him, jaw clenched. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, repeating the motion at least twice. 

“Look, kid…I don’t think I handled this very well.” Mr. Stark told him, voice still soft. “I thought you’d be better off without me around.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. This was hard for him, Peter realized then.

“I’m okay, sir. I promise.”

“You’re not sleeping, Peter. I’d wager you’re not eating enough either. That’s not exactly okay.”

“It’s fine.” Mr. Stark shook his head. 

“It’s not.” Then Peter felt a wave of bitterness…of hurt. If the man hadn’t taken his suit, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have been trapped…if Mr. Stark has just listened! And now the hero was worried? “This…it’s not really an intern retreat or anything like that. I don’t need you to do anything in the lab. Think of it as a…a vacation. A holiday. We’re right on the beach. There’s plenty of food. You can work in the lab if you want. Watch TV, whatever. Just…your aunt thought it would be…helpful. To get you out of New York for a few days.” Peter didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say. “I get it…if you’re pissed at me. I wouldn’t blame you…”

“I was trapped,” Peter whispered, not even knowing why he said it. He’d had no plans to ever tell Mr. Stark this. But the memory was right there…right below the surface. The ash and dust and rubble crushing him. He felt like the memory itself was smothering him…like if he didn’t get out from under it, he would die. And Mr. Stark was right here. Listening. “I…I was trapped and I couldn’t call for help.”

Mr. Stark went silent, and in the dim light, he could see the man’s confusion. So he kept talking, the dark making it easier. “When you took my suit. The Vulture. He was my date’s dad. I was going to the homecoming dance and I didn’t know. He figured it out and…he pulled a gun on me. Told me to leave it alone.”

The man sitting across from him was absolutely still, breathing steady and controlled. “You didn’t leave it alone.” It wasn’t a question but Peter answered anyway, hands shaking in his lap. 

“I followed him. To a building. A…a parking garage.” He swallowed, suddenly aware that tears were overflowing in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. “He took out the supports.” Peter hated the way his voice cracked on that last word, but he had to keep going for some reason. Every word left him a little lighter…but also a little more pained. “I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t call for help…”. His voice broke then, a sob escaping, and he hated himself for crying in front of Iron Man. For crying over something that had happened months ago.

A hand landed on his back as he hid his face in his hands, Mr. Stark moving a little closer to rub circles over his shirt. “Is that what the nightmares are about?” He asked, voice very firmly controlled. Peter nodded.

“I can’t get out. It’s like I’m still there…and I can never get out.” He was practically sobbing, and he expected the man to leave at any point. His throat hurt and his chest ached, and as embarrassed as he was, he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone.

There was a pause. A long, painful one. And then the man spoke. “I’m so sorry, kid.” Peter frowned, glancing up at him then. Sorry? 

“It…it’s wasn’t…” He whispered, shaking his head, but the man waved him off. Then he took that hand and rested it on Peter’s arm. 

“Yeah, it was. I…I should have stayed in contact with you. You shouldn’t have been in that situation. Ever. You should have been able to call for help. And I…” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder and Peter wondered if this was real, or if he was somehow hallucinating all of this. He was exhausted….and so hungry. The man’s words were almost distant, but his tone wasn’t. He sounded wrecked, eyes barely able to meet Peter’s. “I…I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, kid. I’m not mentor material, Peter. I’m not…” He cut himself off, taking a deep, shaky breath, and shaking his head. His hands were shaking, Peter realized, breaths coming too quickly.

“Mr. Stark?”

The man took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, then going on in a more steady tone. “I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry that I was a shitty mentor.” 

“You aren’t a shitty mentor.” Peter murmured, and Mr. Stark smiled a little, shaking his head. But Peter kept going. “You aren’t. I just…it wasn’t your fault. I messed up…you were right to take the suit. And I was fine. I got out of the building and now I’m…”

“Underweight and sleep deprived.” Mr. Stark cut in. Peter sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “Look…I…I’m going to…do better. Okay, kid? We’re going to fix this. All of it.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder again. “You think you can get back to sleep?” Peter shook his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s head to the kitchen and get you something to eat. Then we’ll go down to the lab and work on your suit.” 

Peter smiled, letting Mr. Stark pull him to his feet, surprised but not unhappy about the arm that the man draped around his shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“No problem kid. Let’s get this vacation started.”


	2. School

Irondad Week Day 2: School

Peter glanced over at Ned who sat beside him at the table, flinching at the bright stage lights that shone on them from overhead. It had been two weeks since spring break...since he'd spent the weekend in Malibu with Mr. Stark. And now he needed to focus. MJ had been quizzing them hard all week, and she'd made it abundantly clear that she expected them to win. And Peter planned to...never mind the fact that he hadn't been sleeping.

Not since his mini-vacation in Mr. Stark's Malibu house. It was ridiculous. And it wasn't like the nightmares and the constant, low-level anxiety had gone away while he'd been in California, sleeping late and hanging out in the lab with Mr. Stark. He'd even laid out on the beach with the man, the both of them dozing in the sun in swim trunks, and Peter had woken a couple of hours later to find that the man had put an umbrella in the sand beside him to keep him from burning.

Even through sort of awkward meals and working on his suit and just...existing in a building with the genius billionaire, the anxiety had been there. But it had been less, somehow. He'd still had nightmares, but he hadn't thought about the building actually collapsing on him. He hadn't loved the dark of his bedroom at night but he hadn't felt like he couldn't breathe.

Because Iron Man had been there.

The anxiety was less when Mr. Stark was around. Even on the plane back to New York, when he'd sat next to the man once more and watched movies and napped, he'd been relatively okay. Mr. Stark was his hero, and some part of his brain equated the man with safety. His spider senses never went off when the man somehow snuck up on him. He hadn't even been worried when the two had gone down into the lab in the basement because he was with a superhero...never mind the fact that some people had called him a superhero. He knew better.

Still, it had been awkward at times, spending so much time with the virtual stranger. But it had gotten easier over the three days, and when he'd finally gotten off of the plane and had climbed into the back of a car with the man, Happy in the driver's seat, he'd felt almost comfortable. Safe. At ease.

Mr. Stark has handed him his homework folder on his way out, and it had only been when he'd gotten up to his room and pulled it out that he'd realized it was complete. On top was a post-it note with the familiar scrawl. "You could do this in your sleep. -TS."

He hadn't seen the man since. He wasn't sure why this surprised him...or why there was a nagging ache in his chest when he thought about it. He hadn't really expected Mr. Stark to be around more. Still...the man had sent him a few messages while he'd been in the suit, checking in on him. That was cool. Plus he'd texted him, so not Peter had his number which he assumed was strictly for emergencies. Not that Mr. Stark has said so...still. He couldn't just text Tony Stark for any dumb reason.

Peter felt his phone buzz in his pocket but didn't dare pull it out. The competition hadn't started yet, but MJ would literally slaughter him in his seat if he texted on stage. It buzzed again, and Ned glanced at him, eyebrow raised. He shrugged, and on Ned's other side, Abe gave them both looks. Thankfully the judges couldn't hear.

The other team had already taken the stage, and the auditorium was about a quarter of the way full with spectators, mostly the coaches, teachers, and the families of a couple of the students. May hadn't been able to make t, since she had to work, and Peter honestly didn't mind. She'd been to maybe three of his competitions, and even though he loved her, he was sure they bored her.

His chest felt kind of tight, and his heart beat too fast, but he couldn't do much about it. He hadn't had a full night's sleep since he'd gotten back from California, which probably wasn't helping. He would lay in bed and listen to his pounding heart, wondering if that was what panic attacks felt like. He didn't think so. This was more like a constant buzz of anxiety. His mind would wander to the pile of rubble and he'd imagine the apartment building in an earthquake or an alien attack...imagine the bricks crumbling and the walls collapsing around him. Would he be able to get May out in time?

He realized suddenly that he'd missed the first question. Thankfully Ned had answered. He tried to tune back in, well aware that Flash was somewhere in the audience too, all too ready for him to mess up. So he buzzed in on the next question, glad that a couple of the questions were about science. Then MJ buzzed in on an English question, then Ned for a math question. Abe was great at Geography and History, so between them, they made a pretty good team.

When it was all over, Peter was pretty sure they'd won...there was cheering and high fiving, and MJ smiled at him, which was cool. She'd become something of a friend over the last month or so, but he still wasn't 100% sure how to read her. Not that he didn't like her...she just seemed like someone he'd never quite get. Which was fine.

He was too tired to untangle all of this. His anxiety was buzzing, a feeling like bees in the back of his head, and every once in a while, as he stood and shook the hands of the other team, his eyes would wander to the ceiling for just a second, and he'd wonder how many people he could save if the building were to come down.

Not many.

He'd have to save Ned. He knew it was wrong, but he didn't know how he could survive without Ned...or maybe he'd just let it happen. Let the building come down and suffocate under the rubble. He almost had last time. Maybe this time would be his last.

"Dude?" Ned asked, elbowing him a little, and Peter realized that he'd been standing behind the stage with the others. Each of them were holding papers but he didn't know when he'd gotten his.

"Alright. The next match is in 30 minutes against…"

The next match. He'd known that there were multiple matches. He had to have known that. But...he felt like he was swaying...like he couldn't keep himself focused. Why? Why was his breathing getting harder? This didn't make sense! But the room they were in was small and dark and he grabbed Ned's arm, desperate for someone to ground him. His friend looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and Peter felt his chest constrict.

"Bathroom." He muttered, not sure if anyone else heard, and then he was running down the hall. Sprinting. He had to get out. Out of the building. But if it came down, how would he save them?

Peter came to a sliding stop in the hallway, shoes squeaking, and he braced himself on the lockers, a hand firmly against his chest. It wasn't helping. He still couldn't get air, not as easily as he had only five minutes ago. And if he couldn't breathe he'd die here in the hallway. He remembered asthma attacks and wondered if that's what this was.

He was dying.

Slipping into the next classroom, he shut the door behind him, stumbling over to the windows and sliding to the ground in front of them. Knees to his chest he rested his head on them, fighting the tears. He didn't want to die crying, alone in this classroom...not after everything. Maybe Ned could help. He doubted it, but he was desperate enough to try.

Peter pulled out his phone and the screen seemed to swim and blur in front of his eyes. There were missed texts.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm in the back."

"Did you sleep at all last night? I can see the bags under your eyes from back here?"

"Oh...you're probably not allowed to have phones on stage huh….oh well."

"Nice one. I've got to get you down in the lab. We can put some of that science knowledge to work."

"Congrats, kid. You got plans after this?"

Peter stared at the list of texts, uncomprehending. They were all from Mr. Stark. Did that mean…

"Peter?" He dropped his phone, moving his hand to his chest once more as his heart pounded in his ears. "Woah, kiddo." Then the familiar face was right in front of him as the man knelt in the floor. "Peter?"

"I...I don't know...what's hap...happening." The man held out a hesitant hand, then pulled back at the last second.

"Okay. Pete? Look at me, kid." Peter dragged his eyes up to the man's, his airways tightening more and more by the second. But Iron Man was here! If something happened, he could help. A real superhero was here. Why was he still freaking out? "Is this your classroom?" Peter shook his head, mouth open as he gasped for air. "Tell me about it. What do you see? Name some stuff."

Peter narrowed his eyes in confusion but the man was just staring at him, waiting, so Peter looked around. "Um….plant." He gasped out, pointing a finger at the cactus in the corner. "Cactus. And, uh...chalkboard."

"Yeah, why do you still have chalkboards, by the way?"

"Um…". He blinked, not sure of the answer. "Budget cuts?"

"Right. Makes sense. What else you got?"

"Desks. Chairs. Um...some guy's jacket. I guess he forgot it…" Peter's eyes darted around the room, trying to find something else, taking another breath. "And, uh...an old TV...like, on a cart. In the corner."

Mr. Stark nodded, brown eyes still on his. "Good, kid. You've got heightened senses, right?" Peter hummed in agreement. "Cool. What can you smell in here?"

Peter frowned, confused, but decided to go with it. His chest didn't hurt so much anymore, but he still felt like his heart was beating too fast. "I...uh...I can smell…" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Perfume...body spray. Weed…"

"Seriously?" Mr. Stark asked with a snort.

"Someone was smoking in the bathroom. I think...it's further away."

"Gotcha."

"And...chalk. Chalk dust. And...your cologne now."

"Oh, well, hopefully no one has my cologne smell memorized or people will know I was here." Peter felt himself smile. He felt boneless. Limp. All he wanted to do was lay down. "Alright. One more. What can you hear in here?"

"Mr. Stark…"

"I need to test your senses, Spiderling. What can you hear?"

"In here? There's a fly. In the hall, some of the people from the other team are talking about the drive home...it's going to take over an hour and they want to watch a movie. And I can...uh...I can hear cars outside. On the highway. Fluorescent lights from the gym...they aren't loud but it's like a constant humming." He opened his eyes, staring at the corner where he thought the fly was, then he turned back to Mr. Stark. "Your heartbeat. I can hear your heartbeat."

"Yeah? How does it sound?"

He compared it to his own heartbeat, which had slowed down somewhat. "Calm." He told the man simply, head dropping back against the wall as he took a deep breath, a little surprised that he could. His eyes were too heavy to keep open, and a hesitant hand patted his shoulder.

"Good job, kid. Looks like your enhanced senses are doing just fine."

"Mr. Stark, I don't think I can finish the competition." He admitted, speaking so softly he wouldn't have been surprised if the man hadn't heard him. His head was spinning, and he pressed his hands into the floor, trying to ground himself.

"Okay, kiddo. Here." A hand slipped under his elbow, helping him to his feet and Peter did his best to keep himself upright. "How about we grab something to eat, huh?"

"You really don't have to, Mr. Stark." He told him, shaking his head. But the man didn't let go of his elbow, leading him out of the room and through a side exit.

"I'm starving, Pete. And you look like you haven't been eating."

"I'm...eating." He muttered. The man hummed under his breath, obviously not believing him. "Think you can text Ted and have him tell your teacher that you're sick?"

"'M not sick."

"Obviously not. But I don't know how else we're going to get you out of here. Let's go play hookey."

Peter sent the message to Ned, then followed the man out to his fancy black car. Climbing into the passenger's seat, he fought the urge to rest his head on the window. He wasn't sure if it was the lost sleep or the weird panic he'd felt earlier, but he felt like he could sleep for days. Mr. Stark pulled into a drive-through, ordering without asking what Peter wanted, and the next thing he knew, he was being handed a paper bag filled with fries, two burgers, and a cookie.

He devoured the food, barely chewing before swallowing. Mr. Stark was quiet beside him, eating his own greasy fast food as they sat together in the parked car in the back of the parking lot. Finally, once Peter had practically eaten everything but the bag, the man passed him a second cookie. "Oh, I don't want to take…"

"Take it. I'm not going to eat it anyway." The superhero assured him, and Peter only hesitated for a moment before eating it in two bites. "Did you know that I used to get panic attacks?"

Peter blinked in surprise at the sudden topic change. "I...no...I...I'm sorry…" Mr. Stark waved him off.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about. Going through a wormhole, seeing a bunch of alien ships...thinking I was going to die. That messes with your psyche in all sorts of fun new ways. The first time I had one, I thought I was having a heart attack."

"Oh." Peter murmured, not sure what to say. He hadn't known any of that...it certainly hadn't been public. Then, hesitantly, he glanced over at the man. "Do...um...do you still…" He trailed off, not knowing how to ask.

"Not nearly as often." The man took a long drink of his soda. "Therapy helped a lot. Getting on some actual anxiety medication...booze didn't exactly help. Nor did…" Mr. Stark glanced over at him, them chuckled softly. "Well, other kinds of medication." He shrugged.

"It's...um...it's the building. I keep thinking about, uh...the building coming down and...I know it's stupid. Like, the school wasn't going to collapse for no reason. But...when it's dark or...when...when I think about it…" He swallowed hard, dropping his eyes. "It's really stupid."

"Nope. Not stupid, Pete." Mr. Stark assured him, voice oddly gentle. "Have you talked to anyone about this?" Peter shook his head.

"There's not really anyone...I mean, Ned sometimes but not about...no."

"I know it sucks, bud." Peter glanced over, barely able to get himself to meet Mr. Stark's eyes. "This line of work...it's shit. Honestly, kid, this is hard. And what you went through...it was bad. You...you aren't alone in this, kiddo. Really. I gave you my number, and you can call me anytime."

"I don't want to bug you…"

"You aren't bugging me, Peter." Mr. Stark told him, voice soft and serious. "Not ever. I...I want you to call me if you need something, even if that something is just to talk." Peter had no idea what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, eyes on his lap. "Is that why you aren't sleeping?" Peter nodded. "Alright. How about this. We head back to the Compound. You take a nap. And then, how about we try to find something that can help you."

Peter felt his eyes heat up, and he hurriedly stared out the window, taking a deep, shuddering breath. His personal hero was sitting in a car with him, ready to take this awful weight off of his shoulders and help him carry it. He was too tired to be proud. too tired of being smothered under this weight that seemed to press down on him almost constantly. And now Mr. Stark was going to help him. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

The hand landed on his shoulder again, this time more sure. Heavy and gentle at the same time. "You got it, kiddo."


	3. Circle of Life (death)

Day 3: Circle of Life (death)

Peter stared at the wall. Had been staring at the wall for what felt like years but was probably more like...minutes. His breaths came in pants, but they were calming down. He could breathe. Remembering what Mr. Stark had done for him, he rolled over and stared at the room, taking in the things he could see. Desk. Laptop. Iron Man figurine. Teddy bear from when he was little that he’d never get rid of. Textbooks. A few sci-fi novels.

He could hear his aunt’s heartbeat. A baby crying somewhere...a few floors down. A TV playing the news. The air conditioning humming. 

He could smell...dirty clothes. He needed to do laundry. And...the air freshener his aunt had in the living room. It smelled like apple cinnamon. 

He could breathe. His lungs weren’t burning. It didn’t hurt. But he felt heavy. His chest ached and he felt sick. But at least he could breathe. He’d seen it again...seen his uncle on the ground and seen the blood and it...it hurt. Not in the way that the panic had hurt, but in the way it had hurt when he’d locked himself in the bathroom after his uncle’s funeral.

It had been over a year and he’d thought he was doing okay but now, if it wasn’t a nightmare about the building collapsing it was his uncle bleeding out and he didn’t understand. Didn’t get why he couldn’t just move on! The medicine was helping him keep calm but he still remembered. Still missed his uncle and still remembered how it felt to hold his hands to the man’s bloody shirt. He still remembered the bang of the gunshot, how it had hurt his newly sensitive ears. 

He still remembered how it felt to be crushed under the rubble. Still remembered how much it had hurt. How he’d thought he might die under the concrete and dust. The medicine didn’t take those memories away. Nothing could. And for a moment, he felt a wave of hopelessness. He would have to live with this forever. He would never be free from these memories. And what if he’d never be free from the nightmares either? 

His aunt was asleep. Besides, there was no way he could talk to her about any of this. He couldn’t dump his crap on her...couldn’t expect her to take all that pain away. She had enough pain of her own. She’d lost her husband and now she was stuck with him...a kid that had lied to her about being a superhero and who’d been the reason that her husband was dead. She and Ben hadn’t even wanted kids...and then Peter had been dropped on them and she’d lost everything and he couldn’t stand the thought of making her sadder.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stared at the last text he’d gotten. “If you decide you want to talk to Dr. Jones or anyone else, let me know. No pressure, kid.” 

He’d told Peter to call if he needed anything. And for the last couple of days, the man had been texting him. Asking him how he was doing. Asking if the medicine was working (they’d had to modify an already-existing anxiety medicine to work with his metabolism) and making sure there were no bad side-effects. At first, he’d been more tired than usual, but Mr. Stark had assured him that this was normal. So he’d given it a few days and now he felt fine. Mostly. But those memories. The ones that wouldn’t leave him alone. 

He could text Ned...but it was late. And...okay, he loved Ned. Really. But Ned didn’t know any of this. He saw Peter as a superhero. He looked at Peter and saw Spiderman. And maybe part of that was Peter’s fault. He’d liked the thought of being a superhero. Liked that his friend had looked at him like he was a real hero that had everything in his life together. It was an image he wanted to keep up. The thought of just going up to Ned and admitting that he had nightmares and had to take actual medication to stop himself from having crippling anxiety...it was unbearable.

Of course, there was someone else he could call. Mr. Stark had told Peter to call him. Invited him to reach out any time he needed to. And Peter wanted to! He wanted to think that he could have the kind of relationship with Tony Stark where he could just...call the man. But what could he say? That his chest felt heavy. That he was hurting, not physically but just...hurting. That he wanted to lay in bed and close his eyes and stay there. Forever. The thought of actually climbing out of bed later and going to school was absolutely exhausting.

He was dialing before he could think any more about it. Of course, as soon as the man picked up, after only two rings, he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. He’d just called Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. Because of a nightmare. Closing his eyes, he slumped back against the pillow, eyes closing as he contemplated just hanging up and telling the man he’d accidentally butt-dialed him or something.

“Peter? What’s up, kid?” Mr. Stark asked, sounding exhausted. Immediately, Peter felt bad.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have…”

“The sir isn’t necessary, kiddo. What’s going on? You okay?”

“Yeah…” He murmured, swallowing hard and staring up at the ceiling. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t okay. He didn’t get it. He had been taking the medicine. He’d thought about talking to the guy Mr. Stark had introduced him to. As his intern. But how could Peter talk to some random guy about what had really happened? Not that he didn’t trust Mr. Stark. The man wouldn’t let him spill his guts to some random guy that would turn around and sell his information to TMZ or something. 

It had been over a year now. Ben had been dead for over a year and he was still having nightmares about it. Still kneeling on the cold concrete and holding his hands to his uncle’s chest, desperate and sobbing and his uncle promising that it was going to be okay...but it wasn’t. It was never okay. How could it ever be okay again? “No.” He whispered, not sure why he’d said it. Not sure why he thought it was okay to bother Mr. Stark with this. It was early...barely four in the morning. It had just been a nightmare. And sure, Mr. Stark had told him that he could call, but he’d probably meant that he could call if he got in trouble as Spiderman or something. 

But the word slipped out anyway.

“Alright, kid. Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“I shouldn’t have called...I’m sorry.” He shook his head, wiping a hand over his face. The man had been nice to him, sure. But the last thing he should be doing was calling Tony Stark in the middle of the night because he was sad. He was fifteen-years-old! Old enough to deal with nightmares on his own.

“No, don’t hang up, Pete. Just...I’m glad you called. I told you that you could call if you needed anything.”

“I don’t...I don’t know...I’m...this is stupid.” 

“Not stupid, kid. How about you talk to me? Why are you up so late?”

“Um...I just...I woke up.”

“Nightmares?” He asked, not sounding upset in the least. Peter took a deep breath, staring up at his ceiling. 

“Yeah.”

“About the Vulture?”

“No.” Mr. Stark was quiet for a moment, then spoke again.

“You know, I’ve got some work to do here in the lab, and I could really use some help.” Peter closed his eyes, feeling a tear drip down the side of his face. Mr. Stark was inviting him to work in his lab. Inviting him to come to the compound in the middle of the night after Peter had woken him up after a stupid nightmare. 

“Yeah?” Peter choked out. 

“Yeah. I’ll send Happy. Think your aunt would let you miss school for some super-important intern work that would definitely look good on your transcript.

“I, uh…” Peter sniffed. “I think so. Yeah. I need to ask but…” He sniffed again, wiping his eyes furiously.

“I’ll be right there, bud.”

May was, not too surprisingly, fine with letting him go to the Compound for the day, which told Peter how worried she must have been about him. He’d thought that he’d hid it pretty well, but May knew him better than anyone. Of course, she’d noticed. Still, he didn’t want to talk about it...didn’t want to dump all of his problems on her. Not again. So he got dressed, grabbing a pair of jeans and the first clean t-shirt he saw, throwing the clothes on and waiting for Happy.

Only it wasn’t Happy. Mr. Stark hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that he would be right there. The man himself pulled up in front of Peter’s apartment, sending him a text to let him know that he was there, and Peter stopped short as he stepped out of his building, staring at the man in surprise. Mr. Stark had come. Himself. He’d come to pick Peter up at four am. 

A voice in his head said maybe maybe maybe. Maybe he could trust this. Maybe the man actually did care about him. But then his brain would flash back to the ferry...to the texts he’d sent Happy with no reply. Why had Mr. Stark changed his mind? What had to done to make the man suddenly like him again?

And what if he screwed it up.

Instead of leading him to the lab, Mr. Stark took him up to the common area that was set up like a living room. He’d never really explored the compound before, other than the one floor where he’d received the invitation to join the Avengers. This room was comfortable and almost cozy, with a big sofa and armchairs, bookshelves full of books lining the walls. The TV was huge and mounted to the wall, a cabinet full of movies underneath, as if the man wouldn’t have had everything available to stream. 

Mr. Stark led him into the kitchen, gesturing for him to take a seat at the island, so he climbed up on a bar stool. He went over to the stove then, pouring something, then grabbed a can of whipped cream which he poured on top of the steaming cup. Hot chocolate. Iron Man had just made him hot chocolate. 

Peter thanked him, taking a sip and savoring the hot chocolate and cold whipped cream that melted into his cup. The man across from him chuckled, and he brought a hand up to his nose to wipe off the whipped cream. Mr. Stark took a drink of his own hot chocolate, sans whipped cream, and then placed the cup on the counter. “Any more side effects?” He asked, leaning forward on his elbows. Peter shook his head and put the mug down.

“No. I’m...uh...it’s been fine.” Mr. Stark nodded. 

“Do you think it’s working?”

“I...I think so. It’s been...better.” He nodded again.

“Good. Let me know if that changes. We might have to adjust the dosage at some point.” Peter took another drink of his hot chocolate. “So...nightmares, huh.” He hummed to himself, not looking at Peter for a moment. “You already know I’ve had some rough ones...especially after the whole wormhole thing. And Afghanistan. Ultron. Well...basically every time something big and shitty happened. And let me tell you, Pete, shitty stuff has been happening to me almost non-stop for the last ten years.” 

Peter stared down at his almost empty cup, hands clenched in his lap. He’d never really talked to Mr. Stark about his uncle. He figured the man knew...he knew everything. But he’d never had the courage to talk to Iron Man himself that he missed his uncle...that he still had nightmares about that night. “It...uh...I’ve had nightmares about….about my uncle ever since…” Mr. Stark didn’t cut in, so he took a deep breath. “That night. I had just gotten my powers and...my uncle and I...we...we had a fight. I was mad at him because he found out I was sneaking out and...I was trying to see what my powers were. What I could do.” He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. He took another drink of his hot chocolate. “I yelled at him and took off. He came to find me but...there was this guy with a gun…” He shrugged, shaking his head. “I couldn’t…” Peter brought a hand up to his face, wiping his eyes, feeling his ears get hot. “I just...I didn’t get there in time.”

Mr. Stark was silent, but then he was standing upright. Peter didn’t dare look up...didn’t think he could bear the thought of watching him walk away. So he was surprised when the man climbed onto the barstool beside him, an arm wrapping around his shoulders. And he was horrified when he had to choke back a sob. “I’m sorry, bud.” He murmured, pulling him close, and Peter rested his head on the man’s shoulder, biting down hard on his lip. He couldn't lose it. Not now. Not in front of Iron Man. But the man was rubbing his hand over his arm, then squeezed him for a moment. 

And Peter couldn’t hold back the sob then. He hadn’t talked to anyone about his uncle...not since the week of the funeral. Even Ned hadn’t dared to talk to him about it. “I know, kiddo. I’m so sorry.” Peter clamped a hand over his mouth, and Mr. Stark hugged him closer. 

When he was finally able to stop, Mr. Stark gave his arm a quick squeeze, then jumped off his stool, handing Peter an actual embroidered cloth handkerchief. Like...from Pride and Prejudice, which he’d watched with May and definitely hadn’t enjoyed so much that he’d watched if five times since. Peter stared at it for a minute before wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, wondering if it had to be dry cleaned and how he was going to afford that. “Um...thanks.” He muttered.

“So, you ready to head down to the lab.” Peter nodded, sniffing and stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket. The two headed down to the lab, Mr. Stark pulling out some plans for some updates to his suit, and Peter quickly lost himself in the work...that is, until he closed his eyes for just a second. His body was demanding sleep, and he couldn’t fight it anymore. “Kiddo?” He heard Mr. Stark ask, a hand resting lightly on his back. He hummed. “You want to see your room?”

“Just leave me. I’m fine.” He muttered, mostly asleep already, and then he was being picked up, head propped up against Iron Man’s shoulder, something he would be plenty embarrassed about later. For the moment, though, he just closed his eyes and gave in to his need for sleep.


End file.
